


John! John! You Must Come!

by AugustaAugustus18



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drugs, TaB, Worried Mrs. Hudson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 07:05:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5617762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustaAugustus18/pseuds/AugustaAugustus18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mrs. Hudson observes Sherlock's strange behavior and calls John to check on Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John! John! You Must Come!

"John! John! You must come over! John..."

"Mrs. Hudson, calm down. I'm not understanding. What's wrong?"

"He's not moving. He hasn't moved a bit. It's days now. It's the longest he's ever done this. I'm so worried." 

"He's not moving? What do you mean?"

"He's in the apartment but hasn't moved from his position for ages. The curtains are drawn. I've checked to make sure he's alive, but he hasn't moved. I've often wanted to call you but I didn't want to disturb you."

"Mrs. Hudson, you did the right thing. I'll be right over." John clicked off his mobile, turned around on his heels, and looked straight toward Mary. 

"You have no choice but to go." 

"Right." 

Mary stood up, their toddler at her feet. John rushed a quick hug and a peck. They kept their foreheads pressed together, then with a mutual deep breath, John moved toward the door, grabbed his black jacket and doctor's bag. 

At 221b he let himself in. Mrs. Hudson was waiting at her open apartment door and hurried forward the moment she saw him. "John-" 

"Mrs. Hudson." His hands gently took hold of her upper arms. "I'll go right up. Will you make us some tea and bring it up in awhile?" He lowered his head a bit and looked at her from upraised blue eyes, his eyebrows echoing the question. The effect was calming, though the worry did not end. "I'm so glad you're here, dear."

Bounding up the stairs, John made sure to step loudly so Sherlock could hear him and arouse himself. But he entered a darkened room, the curtains closed, the air fuggy. Sherlock was stretched out on his back on the sofa, his left arm hanging off the side, his knuckles grazed the rug. There was a week's stubble on his jaw and his cheeks were gaunt. John squatted beside the sofa to examine him closely. Sherlock's breath was foul. He lifted the soft eyelids, then reached for his right wrist to check his pulse. John continued to sit on his heels, just watching. The moment lengthened. He kept one hand around his friend's wrist and his other hand touched the reclined man's chest where the T-shirt neck gaped, exposing bare skin. Still John sat. Then John placed a hand in Sherlock's hair, letting it linger. John sighed when there was no response. He took his hands away and got up. 

John put his attention toward the window. He stepped toes first over strewn papers and books, sighing deeply. Reaching the tall window, he pulled a velvet curtain panel aside. Dust flew up, illumined by a thin streak of sun. Once the panels were fully pulled apart, he grabbed the window sash and heaved it up. Sunlight and fresh air entered replacing the staleness. John turned around but was stopped by a tall form blocking his full turn. Sherlock was standing next to him, looking intently down at him. They were so close the the fabric of their clothes touched. John looked up into Sherlock’s eyes. His pulse quickened, his breath nearly disappeared, his hands compulsively opened and closed. Sherlock kept his eyes on his friend. The silence was broken when Sherlock spoke slowly, saying: "John, it seems you are my conductor of light." They stood there seconds longer, then Sherlock broke away. 

“You bloody well have me worried.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this snippet up this past fall while imagining what Moffat and Gatiss might include in the Victorian Special. Then was surprised that my anecdote slightly resembled a scene in the special.


End file.
